If I Could Only
by sxorxo41794
Summary: Story written off August Fictionista Workshop Witfit Daily Prompts. Updates daily. Bella is stuck, held back by her own expectations and certainties. Will she ever find what she's looking for? Or will all her searching be for nothing...


**I was introduced to the idea of using the Fictionista Witfit prompts to create a story from _Rochelle Allison_. Her story Brighter, Appease, Venture is one that I recommend. They are three bite-sized stories that leave you feeling oh so satisfied. Thanks for being my inspiration Rochelle! Updates will come daily.**

**Plot generator: If I could only…**

**Prompt: Flimsy**

* * *

"Hey, B, I've got a winner this time, I'm sure of it."

I roll my eyes and sigh. "Who is it this time Rose?"

She had just walked into my apartment, as she did every Monday morning, dropping her stuff in the living room and taking a seat next to me at the kitchen bar. I can't remember when we'd started this ritual, only that Rose had been the one to initiate it some time ago.

"His name is James," she says brightly. "Emmett met him at the garage when he brought his bike in for a tune-up. I think you'd really like him."

I let that sink in for a moment. _James_...that was a pretty common name. Charlie used to work with a guy named James, but everyone called him Jim. He used to complain about him being young and arrogant, a dangerous combo in the police force...even if it was Forks.

"Do people call him Jim?" I ask.

"I don't know, why does it matter?" She huffs.

"I don't know, just wondering I guess. What kind of bike does he have? Is it a bike-bike, like the ones you have to pedal? Or a motorcycle…"

Rose scrunches her nose, unimpressed. "When's the last time you say someone bring a bicycle in to an auto-repair shop, B?"

I shrug, gulping down the remnants of my morning tea. It's cold now so I get up to make a new pot.

"What does he look like?" I turn to face her, leaning back and bracing myself against the counter, its edge cutting into my palms.

"Dirty blonde hair, deep blue eyes, hot bod….I really think you should give him a try. Plus he seemed really open to getting to know you."

I groan, "You already told him about me?"

"Yeah, of course I did." She gets up, walking around my small kitchen bar to stand in front of me and places her hands firmly on my shoulders. She's in heels, so she ducks her head down a bit to meet my eyes. "I really do think I got it right this time, Bella. Can't you just go with it?"

I want to, but we've already been through so many men, none of which came even close to being what I needed. My mind can't help but conjure up images of this James character atop a roaring Harley, wearing dark shades and a leather jacket. No helmet. His type doesn't wear helmets. He's the bad boy and I'm the girl in the flimsy, yellow sundress, who believed him when he promised excitement and adventure.

"I don't think I want to date a guy who rides a motorcycle," I say.

Rose's reaction is instantaneous as she drops her arms, the determination in her eyes replaced by one of exasperation and defeat. I hate that I'm the cause for her distress, but I can't help it.

"Then I don't know what to say anymore B. You didn't like Michael because was too preppy, you didn't like Jared because he's a lawyer. You refused to go out with Aaron because he smokes..."

"Hey, that's a legitimate excuse." I insert defensively. "I don't want to die of second hand smoke."

Rose's blue eyes watch me sadly. "What are you waiting for? _Who_ are you waiting for?"

"I don't know," I respond quietly, because it's true. I'm stuck in a rut, lost to my own uncertainties and expectations. It's like there's some invisible force holding me back from everyone and everything.

Letting out a breath, Rose tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, playing with the ends for a moment. "You've got so much to give, Bella." And then she walks out of my small kitchen and over to the living room couch, folding her jacket in the crook of her arms and slinging her pocketbook over her shoulder.

I watch her from my spot in the kitchen, listening to the click-clack of her heels against the hardwood floors. Her disappointment hangs in the air like a thick fog.

She walks to the door and pulls it open.

Without turning around she speaks the words I've heard so many times before. "Thing's won't just happen for you…to you, sweetie. You need to put yourself out there and take a risk."

And then she leaves.

_Take a risk…_

Oh, If I could only…

* * *

Not sure why...but I kept going back and forth between tenses with this one. My apologies if some of that comes through. Update tomorrow...even though its 2 am right now...so I guess update again today?

Well then...hope you like it

Don't forget to review. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

-Sab


End file.
